


Nothing So Simple

by orphan_account



Series: Hidden Skies [2]
Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A companion piece to Bridging the Sky, taking place after the previous side-story Gilded Cage. Mytho and Rue are formally introduced by her father.





	

The door to his room closed with a resounding boom that echoed through the halls; Mytho took a deep breath and followed the guards as they led him away from it. Away from it, and towards a meeting from which he scarcely knew what sort of outcome to expect.

He had been in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon for three days now. Three days during which he had barely seen anything beyond the confines of his luxurious prison, yet still he could observe now what a study in contrasts the place was. Certainly, on a broader level, it contrasted with his own palace most of all. It was nothing like that wondrous home of his. Nothing like a home at all, if he was perfectly honest. Vast and lavish though it was, it was also chillingly cold, like the first snow of winter. The walls and floors, which his shoes made too much noise against now—and those of the guards made all too little—were a stark, icy white that gleamed almost eerily in the pale sunlight that poured in from the tall windows. Meanwhile, the curtains, furnishings, and even the bedding in the room he'd been assigned were black, black as night, lending even more of a creepy glow to the white marble architecture, making it shine like an unnatural light source in the gloom of a darkened forest. That too was a great contrast, one that almost hurt his eyes at times to look at. Such as now.

The guards escorted him through the hall and down two flights of stairs to the first floor. Mytho could see the entrance to the castle for a brief moment before he was forced to turn and follow them, so tantalizingly close and yet so far away. There was no hope of escape now, however—the guards were well-armed, and more stood at the castle doors and doubtless without as well. He would be surrounded in no time. And even if he did manage to give them the slip, what then? How would he get home? How would he prevent himself from being recaptured? How would he keep the people in his palace safe from retribution? No, there was no chance of any of that. He needed now to focus on making the best of the situation he was in.

“In here,” instructed one of the guards as he opened the doors. They all wore masks in this place, masks that took the appearance of enormous black beaks, and covered the whole of their heads. Mytho nodded and obeyed. What else could he do?

Beyond the doors was a large parlor, decorated much the same as the rest of the palace, save for that the back wall was one immense mirror, stretching from ceiling to floor. Mytho had little time to take it in, though, before his attention was drawn to the single occupant that sat waiting upon the velvet sofa.

It was The Raven.

What his real name was, no one knew, and that was by his own design to keep himself safe from those who could and would use it against him. He was a tall, almost painfully thin man, with long, straight black hair and a waxy pale complexion, as much a study in contrasts as his home. His features, too, were strange and yet compelling in their own way: beady scarlet eyes, a nose so small it was almost nonexistent, and a wide, beaky mouth that seemed always to be dry and chapped.

Those red eyes gleamed as Mytho entered the room, but he did not rise from his seat. “Ah. Good afternoon, young princeling—I trust that the comforts of my household have been adequate for you thus far?”

“A great deal more than adequate.” Mytho seated himself opposite his captor. “You are too generous to treat me so.”

“Oh?” He raised one razor-thin brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Did you perhaps expect an iron-coated dungeon, with only hardtack and gruel for your meals? Nay, put those thoughts from your mind. Such quarters would be unfitting for the man who is to wed my daughter. Only the finest living space is suitable for a guest of your stature.”

“Then I am grateful for your kindness.” The words tasted bitter in Mytho's mouth, yet he knew he must speak them, and with all the sincerity he could muster. Not only did his own safety depend on cordiality to his 'host', but he feared also that should he displease The Raven, his faraway household might find itself in jeopardy. The man's spies and servants were known to range far and wide, and who knew what harm they might do to those Mytho cared about at but a word from their master? This was the only way he had of protecting them all. “Yet, I do wonder—can I truly be called a guest, under the circumstances?”

“A point well made!” The Raven laughed, its horrible cawing sound taking Mytho back, for one dreadful moment, to when he'd been ripped from Ahiru's side. “But I will continue with my chosen nonmenclature for you, for until you and my daughter are married, you are not truly a part of my family, and can only be called a guest. Do you not see the logic in this?”

“Yes, I do concede this to you.” Mytho nodded. “You are correct. Forgive my impertinence.”

“Nonsense.” He flapped his hand in Mytho's direction. “Now then, have some tea, won't you? It will grow cold soon if you do not indulge.”

Tea. Mytho eyed it warily. Steam rose from the amber liquid that seemed to simmer within the small porcelain cups set atop the silver tray that rested on the slender black table between him and The Raven. A bowl of sugar cubes had been provided too, as well as a pitcher of milk. What concerned him, though, was what the tea might already contain, invisible to his eyes. “What sort of... that is...”

“You are wondering if it has been poisoned?” Mytho's insides clenched, but to his relief The Raven laughed instead. The noise itself was a grating cacophony, but it was a relief all the same to have his implications greeted with amusement rather than anger. “Fear not, little princeling—naught has been done to tamper with your beverage. We do not treat guests so here.”

“Of course not. Forgive me for inferring such.” Mytho bowed his head, and then lifted one of the delicate teacups to his lips. It had a strong musky-sweet flavor, as a good Darjeeling should, but nothing out of the ordinary to indicate the presence of foreign substances.

“Not at all.” The Raven added a sugar cube and some milk to his own tea. “Under the circumstances, as you put it before, you are allowed some suspicions. I would entertain some myself, were I in your place.” He sipped his tea. “Ah. Lovely. And now I suppose you are wondering why I called you here in the first place. It cannot be simply to enjoy a cup of tea, you must be thinking?”

“I do admit to such thoughts.” Mytho watched the steam curl up from his tea. “Yet I would not dream of being impatient, and would allow you to reveal your designs in your own time.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” He popped a sugar cube into his mouth and grinned. “I have not the patience for beating round the bush, and would get to the point swiftly. Which, that is to say—I have brought you here not merely to indulge in some of my tea stores, but to meet the young lady that is to be your wife. Are you not curious about finally beholding her for yourself? I know my words about her must have made you apprehensive, but at the same time I imagine you are eager to have the first meeting over and done with already.”

“My curiosity about her is indeed piqued.” Mytho folded his hands in his lap. “Yes. I would like to meet her now.”

“Then it shall be done.” The Raven raised one hand and snapped his fingers. It sounded like a bird pecking at icy ground. “Daughter! You may enter now!”

It looked at first like a hairline crack appearing in the mirror, albeit a perfectly straight one. Then it widened, as the mirrored wall revealed itself to actually be a set of double doors, swinging outward to reveal a young woman in a low-cut black gown, her hair arranged elaborately atop her head. She stepped past the doors, allowing them to swing shut again behind her, and then continued walking towards the two of them. Mytho rose to his feet out of both habit and respect, but froze before he could bend in a bow.

The young woman before him looked nothing like her father, save for her dark hair and scarlet eyes;. true, her complexion was pale as well, but not quite so sickly looking as his. Other than her coloring, though, she bore him little resemblance. She was petite and slender, with lovely, delicate features and a shapely figure. But what caught his attention and had him going so still with shock was not just how pretty she was, but how _familiar_ she was. No, not just familiar, for that implied knowing only that he had seen her somewhere before, without being able to say where. And Mytho knew _exactly_ where he'd seen her before. This was none other than the maid that had cleaned his room mere days ago, that he'd conversed with about his impending marriage. How? And why?

Whatever the answers to his burning questions, though, it seemed imprudent to press for them in the presence of her father. It would have to be discussed at some later date. Recovering, Mytho bowed as she approached. “It is my honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“Nay, sir. Tis mine.” She curtsied to him, and then to The Raven. “Good day to you, honored father.”

“Indeed.” The Raven drained the rest of his tea, having remained seated as his daughter entered the room. “You may both sit now.” He waited until they had done so before clearing his throat significantly. “Now then, introductions are in order. Daughter, as even you must have figured out already, this is Prince Mytho. Mytho, this is my daughter, Princess Kraehe.”

“It is my pleasure to meet you, my prince.” Kraehe smoothed her skirts and lowered her gaze from Mytho's face.

“As it is mine to meet you, my lady.” Mytho nodded to her.

The Raven yawned. “Such useless niceties. Allow me to get to the point.” He cleared his throat again. “Prince, as you may observe freely for yourself, my daughter is not quite what a monarch like myself might ordinarily have to offer you. Takes too much after her human mother, alas—a shameful dalliance of mine that haunts me every day. Yet still, you may adjust to her physical shortcomings in time.”

“Sir, I must respectfully disagree.” Mytho shook his head. “I find nothing unpleasant about her appearance.”

“Is that so?” The Raven raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose that makes a certain sort of sense, given that you have spent so much time around humans and filthy mutts, and even desired to marry a human... your standards have thus been lowered.” He shrugged. “It is not my concern, in any case. Whether you find her pleasing or not, she will be your bride in time.”

Mytho risked a glance at Kraehe. Her expression was carefully neutral, and she kept her eyes fixed on her pale, folded hands. “I know. I do not contest the marriage.”

“Very wise, young prince.” He smiled. “Ah, yes, and another thing you may have noted, or at least wondered about—she has not yet reached her Time of Choosing, so you may decide how long the marriage will truly last, even if you do not contest it.”

“You misunderstand my character.” Mytho forced his voice to remain calm, though the look in his eyes chilled considerably. “I am not the sort who would ever make such a choice for another.”

“How noble of you.” He seemed to sneer. “Fitting for a Seelie princeling.”

“I am the man my parents raised me to be.” Mytho pushed his cup of tea away, for it too had gone cold. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Ah, yes, your parents.” The Raven licked his dry lips. “I think of them sometimes. Noble to the last _they_ were, as well. But it did not save them in the end, nor will it save you to take after them.”

It was all Mytho could do not to clench his fists in fury, at the way this foul man was speaking of his parents. But he made himself relax his posture, and let his gaze flit again to Kraehe before resuming the conversation. “You spoke of your daughter becoming my bride in time. How much time are you allowing us before the wedding?”

“Eh?” The Raven leaned forward, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Do you then seek to delay the marriage? In hopes of being rescued by your jilted maiden?”

What an odd way to put it, as if it was not—no, Ahiru had not left him, Mytho corrected himself. He was dwelling altogether too much on what Kraehe had said to him the other day, and needed to remember that it was not so clear-cut a situation as either him or Ahiru intentionally betraying the other. “No.” He shook his head. “I do not dream of rescues, nor do I hope for delays. I wish merely to have time to properly acquaint myself with my bride-to-be, that we may know each other better before we are linked in matrimony.”

An eyebrow went up again. “So... in other words, you seek my permission to court my daughter?”

“Yes.” Something like a startled expression flickered across Kraehe's face as Mytho nodded, but soon vanished. A twinge of guilt went through him, but he comforted himself by thinking that it was not truly a lie, he honestly did want to know her better if he was to be married to her. It was not an unusual thing at all, amongst either fae or humans. Or those in between, such as Kraehe clearly was.“I am. May I, then, be allowed to speak with her privately in the near future? Perhaps even engage in select chaste activities that will allow us to more properly enjoy one another's company?”

“How intriguing a request!” The Raven licked his lips again. “I confess I do not entirely understand your reasoning behind it, but I also cannot see why I should refuse, as anything that will make you a more pliable son-in-law is pleasing to me.” He smiled wide. “Very well. I will see to it that you both return to this room sometime soon, to have tea with one another and begin your courtship. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Immensely.” Mytho folded his hands on his lap again. “My gratitude is yours.”

“And you, daughter?” He turned to Kraehe. “Is it your wish as well, to be courted by your fiance?”

“I have no objection.” Her voice was soft and musical. “Indeed, I do think it would please me to know him better before we are wed.”

“So shall it be done, then.” The Raven's eyes glinted with some dark amusement. “Very well. You are both dismissed, for this meeting is at its conclusion—a most surprising conclusion, but a conclusion nevertheless. Return to your respective chambers, and await your second meeting.”

Kraehe rose to her feet first, followed swiftly by Mytho. “Farewell, milord. Until we meet again.” She curtsied.

“Aye.” Mytho bowed. “Take care until then.” He'd scarcely said it before the guards appeared at his side, to escort him back to his room. He let them lead him away, glancing but once over his shoulder at Kraehe as she disappeared through the mirrored doors once more.

***

Three more days passed.

Mytho was confined to his quarters for the whole of them, his world restricted to that single room and what little he could see outside his window when he dared to venture close to it. The only interaction he had was with the maids who brought his meals to his room, and even then that was very little, as they were not permitted to really speak to him outside of basic greetings. It had been the same with the other maids those first three days, now that he thought on it. Kraehe, in her disguise, was the only one who'd truly conversed with him. How he had not made such a connection before he didn't know, but he felt much the fool for not realizing sooner that something had not been right about her in that sense.

How would she speak to him today, when they were alone once more, with no disguises between them? He wondered at it all the while that day, and as the guards led him once more to the parlor. Mytho held his breath as the door was opened, and let it out slowly as he saw that Kraehe was sitting there already, in the spot she had occupied the last time. The tea set was there as it had been last time, as was a multi-tiered tray of pastries. Would they be as good as Ebine's? He pushed a pang of homesickness away and entered the room.

“My prince.” Kraehe rose and curtsied to him. “I am glad to see you again.”

“And I you.” Mytho bowed, and then seated himself. Once the guards had left the room, he continued. “Though I think I am right in saying that this is not our second meeting, but the third?”

“I...” Kraehe dropped her gaze, her fingers tightening on her dark skirts. “You... may be right...”

“Be at ease,” Mytho bade her, in his gentlest tone. His own voice still sounded strange to his own ears after so long as a bear, but he was getting used to it. “I hold no anger or ill will against you about that. I would merely like to know why such a deception occurred.”

“I wished to see you and take the measure of your character, without you knowing my identity, without my father's presence complicating things.” Her chin rose. “Is that so terribly wrong? I know it to have been dishonest, but under the circumstances feel it justified. If I am to be made to wed someone I do not know...”

“Then you would want to attempt to know them, and on your own terms. I understand.” Mytho poured himself some tea and took a scone from the tray. “As I said, I hold no anger or ill will against you. You merely roused my curiosity.”

“As you have roused mine.” As he spread jam on his scone, Kraehe watched him with those strange scarlet eyes that had so intrigued him when first they met. They were the same color as her father's, true, but had a different shape, and suited her much more than they did him. What a odd man, to believe her wretched-looking. But perhaps Mytho's own standards _were_ different from the rest of the fae now. Or at least from those of the Unseelie Court. “Is that why you wished to meet with me today? To sate your curiosity about my deceptive act?”

“Partially,” Mytho admitted, before taking a bite of the scone, and washing it down with tea. Darjeeling again; it was probably a favorite of The Raven's. “But I did not lie about wishing to know you better, either. We are, after all, to be married.”

“You are resigned to it, then.” Something flashed in her eyes. “Or I had the measure of you wrong, and _you_ are the faithless one, quick to forget that other girl you sought to wed.”

“I...” Mytho's shoulders sagged, and he set his half-eaten scone back on his plate. “I cannot say. Those are both weighty accusations you level against me, and though a part of me wishes to take offense... I also...”

“You also what?” Kraehe prodded, after he had been silent for nearly a minute.

“I am not certain of myself.” Mytho closed his eyes and sighed. “Resigned is a cruel word, and I do not wish to apply it to myself, as I have no desire to cause you pain. Accepted, I think, would be better. Or would it? I know not.”

“Why would you not wish to cause me pain?” Bitterness crept into her voice. “You have heard many a wretched thing about me from my father, after all, I know you have. You told me so yourself. And your heart still lies with another, so you have no desire to marry me, unless you truly are fickle.”

“Yes. Your father, in fact, used that exact word—he told me you were wretched both within and without. But I also told _you_ , that I wished to wait to form my own opinion of you until after we had met. And that too was no lie.”

“And what is your opinion, then?” Kraehe looked away, down at her untouched teacup.

“Not yet fully formed.” Mytho leaned forward. “I still scarcely know you, after all. But I have already seen enough to know that your father must be wrong about you. And I would like to know more still.”

“Why?” She met his eyes, her own full of incredulity. “Are you truly fickle, then? Have you forgotten that other girl so swiftly?”

“I cannot think of any who would wish to marry a stranger. Can you say that you would prefer to know nothing of me until after our wedding day?” Mytho waited until she grudgingly nodded. “I thought not. That alone is enough to make me wish to deepen our knowledge of one another. And, also...” He looked down. “Fickle is... no, I do not wish to think myself faithless. And in perfect honesty, thoughts of my intended do still weigh on my mind. But so too do your words to me.”

“My words to you?” She raised an eyebrow. “What words did I speak that could have such an impact upon you?”

“Surely you must recall—what you said about my feelings being more about what might have been between her and I, rather than what was. If that is indeed the case, then...” Mytho stopped, and shook his head. “No, no, that... forgive me, I must really sound like a faithless monster.”

“You are curious about whether your feelings for her are deep and true, and seek to find out via spending time with me?” Kraehe tilted her head, an almost amused expression glittering in her eyes. “Do I have the measure of you correct now?”

“I... well, to be truthful, I do harbor that curiosity.” Mytho's face burned. “But it is not truly what I am getting at. To make my meaning plainer... I think that if my feelings for her are shallower than I believed, then it may yet be that I could grow to feel real affection for you, in time.”

“... I see.” Kraehe's face grew cold again. “You feel obligated to that, then. To protect me from a loveless marriage, out of _pity_.”

“Not one bit.” Mytho sat up straighter. “It is true that it pains my heart to hear your father speak so disparagingly of you, I will not lie—for none deserve such scorn from their parent. Yet pity is not the reason I would try to nurture fond feeling for you. I wish...” He trailed off, and then shook his head. “Forgive me, I... cannot put into words what I am feeling. I only know that something about you draws me to you, independent of the situation we have both been put in, and I wish to know you better, to explore that pull and to sort out my own muddled feelings. If this is unpalatable to you, then I will withdraw, and see nothing of you until the day of our marriage arrives, but if you wish it as well, then I would like to continue to see you, in settings such as this.”

Kraehe regarded him silently for a moment. “You... wish to court me, then? In truth? Not just a story, told to give my father a reason to speak to me alone without suspicion being raised?”

“I do not know if I can honestly call it that, when both our feelings are unaccounted for at this time... but otherwise, yes.” Mytho nodded. “I do, as I have just stated, wish to continue seeing you privately. To become more deeply acquainted of one another before we are wed. I think that is a natural desire, if nothing else. But as I have also said, I will step back if you prefer otherwise.”

“... No.” Kraehe shook her head. “That is to say, I do not prefer otherwise. Such an arrangement... it would be acceptable to me.” She looked down, and began to stir a sugar cube into her still steaming tea. “I have but one request, however.”

“Name it. Name it, and I shall do my best to fulfill it.” Mytho found himself leaning forward again. How lovely she truly was! It made him feel disloyal to Ahiru to think such things, and indeed his insides were squirming at the thought of courting another when he still harbored some sort of feeling for her... but he had to remind himself not only that it was technically not a courtship now, but also that Ahiru was lost to him forever, and that Kraehe might indeed be correct about his feelings being based more on possibilities than realities. He'd been trying to push that thought away ever since she'd spoken it, but it refused to stop pricking at his mind. “What is it you wish?”

“For you to call me...” Her spoon stilled in the tea. “Call me... Rue.” She set the spoon aside with an overloud clatter. “It was... my mother called me that, it is one of my few memories of her, and I prefer it to 'Kraehe'.”

“Rue?” She started to nod, but then her expression transformed into one of surprise when he smiled. “It is lovely, I see why you prefer it. It suits you.”

“I...” She looked away, blushing. “You are too kind, my prince.”

“Call me Mytho.” He hesitated for a minute, and then reached across the table to lay one hand atop hers. She jumped slightly at the contact. “And as it is your wish for me to call you Rue, then I am honor-bound to respect it. Henceforth that shall be what I know you as.”

“Only in private.” She shook her head, alarm shining in her eyes. “My father cannot know, for it would anger him.”

“Of course.” Mytho nodded. “Now, then, shall we begin anew?” He took her hand, and pressed a small kiss to her knuckles. “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Rue.”

Rue blushed again, and smiled. “As it is mine to meet you, Mytho.”

 


End file.
